Victoria's Secret
by ardavenport
Summary: A young woman wakes up with a dark-haired man in her bed. And a pain below her stomach
1. Chapter 1

**VICTORIA'S SECRET**

by ardavenport

***** O *** O *** O *** O *****

Part 1

* * *

Eyes closed, Vicky yawned and stretched in bed.

Ouch.

The crumpled sheet rustled as she felt around the bare skin below her stomach. What was that? It was most decidedly not her time of the month and it wasn't in the right place anyway. It wasn't a cramp; it was a real, stabbing pain. Gas? She hadn't eaten anything that would cause gas that bad.

Inhaling, she rolled over onto her back. The pain ebbed a little. And she smelled the sweet and too-long-absent scent of Man-In-Her-Bed. Her shoulder brushed a bicep and she opened her eyes.

Colorless early morning light framed the window around the dark shadow of the curtains and she could hear the distant traffic just getting started for the day on the boulevard down the street from her apartment.

He must have turned off the lights sometime during the night after they both fell asleep. Turning her head, she admired what she could see of last night's conquest in the twilight.

Thick black hair, tanned face and forearms. She remembered being a bit miffed to see his ridiculous tan lines on his upper arms when she took his shirt off. He was pasty white everywhere else where a short-sleeved shirt and long pants would cover. And this was hardly the first time she had seen this on a date once she got the wrapper off. If she diligently spent time in the sun getting an even tan, why couldn't guys do the same? But she privately forgave him this lapse because he had almost no chest hair. She was not fond of sleeping with itchy gorillas. He had said he was part Indian, so maybe that was actually true.

He was quite thoroughly asleep, head back, mouth open, but he didn't snore. Another good point. Vicky also did not like sleeping with fog horns and on a first encounter you just couldn't know about that until after the fun.

She pushed the crumpled sheet down past his thighs. Even if he was pasty in places, he was still long and lean, with not an ounce of extra fat on him; just the way she liked her men. His male equipment was acceptable, but not anything outstanding. He made up for it by being cute and enthusiastic under the covers. Really, he had been as eager to please as a puppy, and she had rewarded him with some cuddles after they had sex, though he was pretty much unconscious soon after that. But that was pretty standard for men in general.

For her first foray in months, last night had not been too bad.

Ouch.

The pain came back, more intense this time.

What was it? She felt around again and then jerked her hand back. It hurt to press down.

She rolled away from last night's romp and got up, not bothering to cover herself, and made her way to the bathroom, the shag carpet pressing into her bare feet. Peeing wasn't painful, so it wasn't that. She flushed and grabbed the sink, pushing herself up to look in the mirror in her tiny bathroom.

Her thick blond hair was a mess, her face flushed and her makeup was unforgivable, even for the morning. And she was looking a little pasty, too, even without any tan lines. But she only had two drinks. Her date looked a little squeamish about buying her more; he was obviously on a budget – his off-the-rack sports jacket and clashing pants too obviously advertised his modest finances - but she let that go. With a full head of hair, and brown eyes, he was cute enough to pick up at a single's club. And she was not looking for a sugar-daddy, unlike so many of her friends.

Now she looked worse than she had after a night with an out-of-town salesman wielding a generous company expense account. Could it be . . . ?

No. Absolutely not. It did nott feel like that at all and she was done with that anyway.

Well, mostly.

She carefully rubbed her body again. It was tender on her lower right side. What could be down there that could hurt like this? Could it be gas? If it was, she fervently hoped it would pass before . . . .

. . . . . John? . . . . . .Johnny!

She sighed. Guys were allowed to forget the names of their one-night-stands, but she did not care for looking like a brainless bimbo. And sometimes it was useful to guilt them into a few extra perks when you caught them stumbling over her name on the morning after.

The pain seemed to lessen a bit and she stood up straighter, letting her head fall back and running her hand through the tangles in her hair. What if this didn't go away by the time he woke up? Was she supposed to hobble with him to the door?

Hand lightly covering her lower abdomen, the other hand on the wall, she took little steps to the shower stall. Not far the go; it was a tiny bathroom. Hot water and soap cured everything, right?

But she kept the water warm, not hot. Her face felt flushed and she pressed the back of her hand against her forehead. Did she have a temperature, too?

Cutting her shower short, she shivered as she reached for a towel. She cast a wary eye back at the toilet. Would she need it again? For something coming up?

"Vicky?" Johnny tapped at the closed bathroom door.

Shit.

She wrapped the towel around her body, grabbed another one and shivered again.

"Just a minute." Pushing her damp hair back, she checked herself in the mirror again. Grabbing some tissues, she wiped away makeup she'd missed in the shower. No makeup was better than bad makeup. She touched her forehead again; she definitely had a temperature, but it didn't feel too bad. Maybe if she kept the lights off, he wouldn't notice and he'd just clear out like guys were supposed to. She pushed her breasts up, making sure that there was plenty of distracting cleavage showing over the towel.

"Hey." His arm resting against the door frame over his head, he gave her a lopsided grin. "Morning." He had demurely wrapped the sheet around his hips. His strong aroma of male-sweat-after-sex would normally make her want to grab him around the waist, but now it just made her nauseaous.

"Morning," she managed a sly grin and slid past him as if making room for him to use the facilities. "It's all yours."

She sighed when he did. Collapsing on the bed, she curled up as soon as the bathroom door closed. Shivering, she pulled the blanket over her and gratefully listened to the shower sounds from behind the bathroom door, giving her more time to recover. But the pain was not leaving her any room for dignity. Lying down made her feel marginally better, but only slightly less nauseous.

Food poisoning? Was that it?

More light was coming in around the edges of the curtains, but she doubted that the sun was up yet. Birds tweeted outside with the traffic noise.

She carefully explored around the pain below her navel as if knowing more about it would make it go away. Ouch. Taking her hand away from it, she lay there, breathing deeply and thinking about how she did not want to clean vomit off of her bed

The shower stopped running.

Her reprieve was almost over. Vowing to knock on her neighbor Jody's door and go to the doctor as soon as he was gone, she pushed her hair back and levered herself into a sitting position. She thought the pain felt a little better, so maybe lying down had helped.

He flicked on the light and she blinked and rubbed her eyes, but he hurried past, diving down to retrieve his pants from the scatter on the floor. He had sheet and towel wrapped around him and didn't drop them until he had his briefs on. She would have laughed at his shyness, if she'd felt better. She closed her eyes from the glare of the lights. Maybe bright pink curtains and furniture wasn't such a good idea.

"Ooooh, man, Vicky, that was . . . that was great."

He had said the same exact words the night before, but Vicky did not feel up to flirting for more specific praise. He collected shoes and socks, shirt and jacket.

"I've got to say. You were, I mean, you were . . . . incredible last night. Incredible!" He added an emphatic hand gesture and a sock went flying. He ducked down for it and started buttoning his shirt. "I mean you've got . . . . I mean what you did with your hands and, and just . . . all of you, I mean . . . ."

He stammered on with his appreciation, sprinkled with repeated 'incredibles'. His naked gratitude was kind of sweet. Vicky just wished she could appreciate it more.

"Oooooh."

She clutched at a fresh stab of pain.

"Hey. Are you alright?"

She opened her eyes. He was looking at her. Really looking at her, his boyish enthusiasm vanishing.

"Sorry. I think I must have eaten something. It's not you. I'm just feeling a little off from . . . something. Oooh," She hugged the blanket to herself.

"How do you feel?"

"Not great."

"Do you have pain?"

"A little. Just down here." She pointed with her hand which was under the blanket, so he couldn't see it. But his eyes surprisingly went right to where the pain was. He slid right up to her on the bed. Peeling the blanket back, he probed . . .

"Ow!"

SMACK!

Vicky did not mean to slap him; it just happened. His head whipped to the side with the blow and he fell back, raising his hands.

"Okay, okay." He came forward again. "Is the pain on your right side?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"Have you had it before?"

"No, just this morning. It just started hurting as soon as I woke up."

He put the back of his hand on her forehead. "Yeah, you feel a little warm. Vicky, where's your phone?"

"Hunh?"

The question did not make any sense. Phone? Phone? What for?

He grabbed her shoulders and leaned closer, forcing her to look back at him.

"Vicky, I need to call for help. This could be really serious. I think you need to go to the hospital."

She stared back, still confused. "Hospital? But, but it's just food poisoning."

He did not exactly shake her, but she found herself sitting up straighter. She gaped back at him. Lest night he had been a cute guy in a singles' bar that she could wrap around her little finger with some strategic flirting, a lot of leg, a low neckline and her double-D cup size. Now he was suddenly in charge. How had that happened?

"No, Vicky, I don't think it's food poisoning. I think you might have an appendicitis. You need to go to the hospital to get it checked out."

Appendicitis? Vicky had no idea where her appendix was, but that word, 'appendicitis', clicked. And she did not really believe she had food poisoning.

"Where's your phone, Vicky?"

"In the living room, on the table by the sofa."

"Okay, stay right here. I'm going to call the fire department." He bounded off the bed fast enough to make the mattress bounce a little and she grimaced, but he was gone. Then she heard him speaking in the next room though she couldn't make out the words. No longer trying to hide anything, she curled up on the bed again. She felt slightly better lying on her side.

Appendicitis . . . hospital . . . . SURGERY?! She groaned, realizing that this would condemns her to one-piece bathing suits, maybe for the rest of her life. She looked damn good in a bikini, but she did not know how to hide an appendectomy scar. Was it even possible? She vowed to find out.

Hospital . . . . hospital . . . . she would need some things. She was not going to wander around in a flimsy, backless gown like her grandfather.

Johnny came back and sat down on the bed next to her, much more gently than he'd left.

"Okay, help is on the way. Are you okay? Are you feeling sick? Tell me how you feel."

She thought it would be easier for her not to feel sick if he didn't mention it.

"I'm okay. Johnny . . . if I have to go to the hospital, could you put some things in my overnight bag for me?"

"Uh, sure, sure." He got up and looked around, suddenly not in charge again. "Uh, where is it?"

"The bag is under the dresser. I guess I need a nightgown and some clothes."

He found her small suitcase, opened it and put it on the corner of the bed. Then he opened the top drawer and put his hand in.

"Uuuh . . . ." Eyes wide, staring into the drawer, he held up the corner of a lacey black negligee. The top drawer was for second dates and special occasions.

"Second drawer."

He clumsily tucked the sexy garment back and opened the drawer under it. Out came a long flannel nightie. Good for cold nights and a gift from her mother who pretended that her daughters were more innocent than they were.

"And some clothes."

He looked quite confused and hesitant, as if the dresser had suddenly turned into a bear trap.

"Just some clothes. Underwear, pants, a top. Anything." She thought she heard a siren approaching.

He threw things in. She was sure nothing matched and he just grabbed a double handful of underwear, but too much was better than too little. He even surprised her by asking about her purse, slippers, shoes, toothbrush and a few other little things. They went into the bag, too. The siren was definitely louder.

"Believe me, I know what it's like to be in the hospital. They've got toothpaste and stuff, but you'll want your own." He shut the case. The siren was very loud. "I'm going to go down and let them in."

He was already out the door before she could say anything. She was concentrating very hard on not throwing up. The siren stopped, right outside. And she wondered why he had called the fire department if he thought she had an appendicitis. She wasn't on fire.

Very soon Johnny returned with two other men right behind him.

"Right in here." He stepped back as the newcomers put down boxes on the bed next to her. They wore bright blue short-sleeve shirts, black pants and shiny badges. Then Johnny announced numbers for her pulse and breathing, while one of them spoke into some kind of radio in one of their boxes.

"Hi, I'm Roy DeSoto. He's Dennis Spasky." He gestured toward the other man. "Johnny here tells me you have some pain?"

She stared up at him. He had bright blue eyes, non-descript dark hair and a Boy Scout face. Vicky suddenly realized that she was naked under the sheet and her hand gripped the edge to keep it in place. She had just last night stripped down with Johnny on the bed she was lying in. But these two strangers did not get the same kind of invitation.

"Do you know each other?"

"Uh," Roy glanced toward Johnny. "Yeah, . . ." Her question seemed to throw him off, but he quickly got back on track and asked her about her pain.

"Uh, it's here." She let him look. The name tag on his shirt said 'PARAMEDIC' and that sounded medical.

Glancing toward Johnny, Roy took his friend's advice and only gently probed while Dennis inflated a blood pressure cuff around her arm. Vicky sucked in her breath when he hit the spot, but she managed not to hit either of them.

A glimpse of pale skin under Roy's sleeve caught her eye. Then she darted a quick glance toward Johnny. His long sleeve shirt from last night covered his arms but she was pretty sure that he and Roy had the same tan lines there.

She heard a new siren in the distance. And Dennis produced a clear plastic bag and tubing with a needle on the end of it. She clenched her teeth as the needle went in, taking their word that the doctor they were talking to said it was necessary.

The new siren blared outside and then stopped. The ambulance arrived. Soon, two more men, white, short-sleeve shirts, white pants, black belts, black shoes, hurried in. Vicky clutched the blanket covering her a little more. Five men was just too many. Johnny flashed her a smile and assured her they would take good care of her at Rampart, the hospital with the doctor on the other end of the radio.

"You're going to be fine. I'll see you at the hospital. I'll bring your bag."

"Oh, Johnny!"

They had her loaded onto the stretcher, their blanket now covering her, but her shout stopped them.

"Put your pants on first."

He froze. Then his head dropped, looking down. Johnny had put his shoes and socks on, but somehow managed to forget his pants. He only wore white briefs under shirt and jacket, his bare, pasty legs exposed. Above her, the faces of Roy, Dennis and the two ambulance attendants contorted with the effort not the laugh.

His head snapping back up again, Johnny looked cross-eyed.

"Uuuh, okay."

Vicky's head fell back and the ambulance attendants hustled the stretcher out of her apartment. She would have laughed with the others, but she knew it would hurt too much.

***** O *** O *** O *** O *****

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End Part 1


	2. Chapter 2

**VICTORIA'S SECRET**

by ardavenport

***** O *** O *** O *** O *****

Part 2

* * *

Doctor Early arrived at the Rampart Emergency base station and predictably grinned toward Firefighter-Paramedic John Gage who was waiting, cup of joe in hand, with his partner, Roy DeSoto, by the coffee pot.

"Hey, Johnny! Great looking pants."

Head Nurse, Dixie McCall watched Johnny's shoulders slump. Roy unsuccessfully tried to suppress his grin. Johnny noticed.

"Some partner you are. Telling everybody at the Station and now in Rampart, too? Why don't you just get on the radio and have the dispatcher tell everyone in the Department, too?"

"I didn't tell him. And I wasn't the only one there. It was probably Dennis." Roy gave up trying to hide his smile and let it out.

"Actually, I heard it from Conyers in X-Ray."

The story had obviously spread all over the hospital. It was just too good. Johnny's mouth gaped open and Early shrugged amiably. Then his expression changed to puzzlement.

"You were on the call, Roy? With Spasky?"

"Oh, I traded shifts with Pete Chavez so he could take his kids camping."

Dixie saw Doctor Brackett first, changed from his green surgical scrubs back into his usual white lab coat, coming down the hall. The others followed her gaze and immediately gave Kelly Brackett their full attention. Especially Johnny.

"Uh, Doc. How's Vicky doing?" Dixie had already told him that they had gotten his date, Vicky Glinman, to the hospital in time, but he and his partner hung around for the doctor's word.

"Pretty good, that appendix was pretty inflamed and ready to go, but we got it out in time. They've taken her out of ICU and got her a room." He looked toward Roy. "And she wanted to apologize again for throwing up on you in the ambulance."

Roy shrugged with a what-are-you-going-to-do? half-grimace/half-grin. "Just part of the job."

Dixie sighed in sympathy. But at least the paramedics were wearing black pants that could be cleaned up without showing. It was tougher getting things like that our of hospital whites.

"You can go up and see her any time, Johnny."

"Hey, great." He grinned broadly and took a step toward the Admissions Desk down the hall.

"Uh, Johnny. Could I talk to you in my office first? Just for a minute?"

Gage froze. He looked about as if wondering if Doctor Brackett was talking to him. Dixie lowered her eyes to look down at a chart on the counter. It wasn't any of her business.

"Uh, sure, Doc, sure." Gage's voice went a little high, but his usual casual manner returned and he followed Brackett down the hall.

The question, 'What's that about?' was written all over the faces of Joe Early and Roy DeSoto, but Dixie said nothing as she peeled back the bottom corner of the top page of the chart. They caught on that this wasn't to be gossiped about.

Early changed the subject. "She's a lucky girl; that Johnny was with her. Sounds like they got her here just in time."

"Yeah, that's good." Roy nodded back, his mirth vanishing from his face. Last month, DeSoto and Gage had brought in a young mother with appendicitis. But she did not have acute symptoms, and her appendix had burst by the time she arrived in the Emergency Department. At the time, Roy had pointed out to Dixie her husband and four children occupying five plastic chairs together in the waiting area. They had followed the ambulance and the squad to the hospital in the family station wagon; none of the four children's feet touched the floor.

The man's wife died three days later from sepsis. And like so many other tragedies that came to Rampart, they had no idea what happened to the broken family other than some hurried mentions of grandparents and available aunts.

"I heard Johnny's date was quite a looker." Changing the subject again, Early nodded his head toward DeSoto. Dixie leaned on the counter and raised an eyebrow. But Roy was a thoroughly married man and he stayed true to his instincts.

"I wasn't really looking." He shrugged and looked down the hall toward Doctor Brackett's office.

***** O *** O *** O *** O *****

John Gage paused outside the door to Room 434. The door was ajar and he could hear muffled female voices inside. Vicky was awake after her surgery.

He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Best to get this over with. He pushed the door open and entered.

But instead of a nurse, he found a middle-aged woman in a bright fuschia pantsuit looking back at him from a chair beside the bed where Vicky sat, the bed propping her up. She slouched lower under the covering white sheet and blue blanket when she saw him. Her visitor's permed and curled blonde hair, blue eyes and pointed chin told Johnny exactly who 'Mom' was. She was even the same height as Vicky, thicker in the waist though every bit as buxom and curvy as her daughter.

"Oh, hi, Johnny." Vicky gave him a nervous wave. "Uh, this is my Mom."

"Oh." The mother's expression changed from wary to welcoming. "Oh, you must be Vicky's friend who came to check on her this morning after she told you she wasn't feeling well at that awful club that she and her sister insist on going to."

Sister?

Vicky had not said anything about a sister, but they had not really talked about families last night.

'Don't say anything!' Vicky silently mouthed her plea while her mother's back was turned. Not wishing to get Vicky into any trouble, Johnny gave her mother a return smile.

"Uh, yes, Ma'am."

"Oh, listen to that, Vicky." Mom appraised him head-to-toe, from regulation black boots to his Fire Department badge, and turned back to her daughter. "Polite, clean cut." Frowning, she turned back to Johnny. "Well, I suppose your hair could be a little shorter, but that can be taken care of. I'm Ruth Glinman, by the way." She turned back to her daughter. "This is a good one, Vicky, you shouldn't let him get away." Turning back to Johnny, her eyes glowed with approval. But again, behind her back, Vicky gave him an exaggerated grimace that told him that unlike her somewhat predatory mother, she was definitely not sizing him up for a tuxedo and a wedding ring.

"The doctor told me that you got my Vicky here just in time. If that appendix had burst, it could have been very serious. Very serious." She took a step toward him, lowering her voice as if confiding something to him that her daughter in the bed next to them could plainly hear. "He really thinks that you might have saved her life. And I have no doubt you did." Her declaration left no room for argument.

Mrs. Glinman glanced in a rather obvious fashion toward his right hand.

"So, you're not married, I assume?"

"Uh, no, Ma'am." Johnny did not elaborate one way or another about his interest. Vicky cringed again behind her mother's back, another reassuring sign for him.

"Oh, you're so polite, young man. I don't know where people's manners are these days. I suppose there wouldn't be any harm then in my leaving you two together while I go talk to the nurses about the awful food in this place. I don't know how they expect anyone to get well here." Smiling brightly, she walked around Johnny and hustled out the door with a wink toward her daughter.

"I'm sorry." Vicky found a way to slouch even lower in the bed. "She does that to anyone she sees me go on a date with."

In his years of dating on the single's scene, Johnny had had the occasional run-in with embarrassing parents. There wasn't much a girl could do about it. "That's all right." He shrugged.

"Thanks for bringing my things." Vicky was wearing the flannel nightgown that he had put into her bag.

"That's okay. I was going to be here anyway."

"So, you're like, really a medic or something." She stared right at the 'Paramedic' on his name tag. "I think I heard about something about it, but I thought it had something to do with the Army and . . . . parachuting."

The paramedic program in LA County was less than ten years old and the thing about parachutes was a strange, but not un-heard-of misconception. He shrugged again, but his next words were ones that he could not avoid any longer and needed to get out before Vicky's Mom returned.

"I talked to Doctor Brackett."

Vicky cringed again. "Sorry."

"Yeah, they found your prescription in your purse."

"I know, I know." She threw her head back. "I should have waited. But it was only a couple weeks and Jill came over last night and wanted to go out." She named the friend, a stunning red-head in a low-cut green dress, that she had been with when Johnny and Chuck Goodman, another paramedic from Station 110, had joined them at their table. Chuck had gone home with Jill. "And I was going stir crazy, not going out for so long."

She guiltily looked up at him with big blue eyes that might have gotten quite a lot from him the night before, but not in the light of morning.

"Yeah, well, I'll get tested later and if nothing shows up, I guess there's no harm."

"Really?" Her tone made him think that she was looking for more absolution than he was willing to give. But he couldn't help giving her just a little smile. Even wearing a granny nightgown in a hospital bed and no make-up, she was still looked fantastic.

"I guess." He started to back away. It was a given that there would be no exchange of phone numbers, no second date. "I've got to get back to work."

"Okay."

He reached the door, but paused when she called his name.

"And thanks for saving my life, Johnny."

He took one last wistful look back at one of the best dates he'd ever had. "Just doing my job."

He left and managed to escape to the elevator before catching a glimpse of Mom's pantsuit striding down the hall back to her daughter's room.

***** O *** O *** O *** O *****

Roy had already put their now well-stocked equipment boxes back in the squad, so when his partner returned from his visit upstairs, they just waved a good bye to Nurse Dixie McCall and headed to the door. Roy started the squad's engine as soon as Johnny got in.

"So, um, how's your friend doing?" Roy kept his tone casual as he carefully maneuvered the squad out of Rampart's huge parking lot.

Johnny turned to him. "Okay. Looks like there're no complication. She'll be fine." He turned back to the slowly passing scenery, arm on the door of the open window of the squad. Roy licked his lips, looked left and right and pulled onto the main street in front of Rampart.

"So, are you going to see her again?"

Johnny let out a big sigh and hung his head. "No." He did not look back.

"Really? I though she was kind of pretty."

"Kind of?" Johnny jumped up in his seat, suddenly animated by Roy's innocent comment. "Kind of?! Roy, she was Gorgeouss!" He started spluttering. "She was, she was . . . she was GORGEOUS, Roy!" He threw his head back and almost collided with the fire helmet hung behind his seat.

"Okay, okay, she was - - she was gorgeous."

"Pretty." Johnny just shook his head in wonder at his partner's tepid assessment. Roy had actually seen more than enough. The blanket had slipped a bit when they lifted her from the bed to the stretcher. Johnny's date could have been Raquel Welch's sister. Roy had firmly and professionally kept his mind on only the symptoms and effects of appendicitis. He was almost glad when she threw up, something that definitely lowered her attractiveness rating. But he had no idea why Johnny wouldn't go out with her again.

"So, um . . . why not?"

"Hunh?"

"Why aren't you going out again?" Roy glanced toward his partner before returning his eyes to the road and slowing down for traffic ahead, stopped at a red light.

Johnny closed his eyes and sighed and looked as if he might not answer for a moment before speaking.

"She had a prescription for antibiotics in her purse. Dixie found it."

"Antibiotics? Did she have an infection?"

"Yeah, Roy." Johnny raised his voice impatiently. "She had an infection."

Two and two fell together for Roy DeSoto, Married Man. "Oh. Uh, you mean the kind of infection you get from dating."

"Yeah, Roy." Johnny slumped in his seat.

The traffic started up again and Roy gently put his foot on the accelerator, moving with it. "Oh. So, . . . . are you going to get tested or something?"

"Brackett gave me a list of things to look for. And I'll go in and get tested next week, even if I don't see anything."

"And, I guess, no dating."

"Not until I get a clean blood test back." His eyes honed in on Roy. "Roy, you're not going to say anything about - - - "

"No! No way. No about that." Roy had never had that happen to him, but he was still sympathetic, and there were profession ethics to consider. "Are you kidding? I'm not talking about that."

"Thanks."

They drove in silence for a moment before Roy couldn't resist bringing up one point.

"Of course, people're still going to talk about the pants thing."

"Roy!"

Still grinning, he tried to placate Gage's renewed upset. "But Dennis also talked about how good-looking your date was. He said you were a real lucky guy."

"Yeah, I feel real lucky right now, Roy!" He settled down again. They were approaching the Station. The garage door rattled up as Roy approached and turned the squad around to back in.

"But you know what, Roy?" Johnny turned back to him as he pulled out of the morning sunshine and into the garage. A smile quirked one side of his lips.

"Even with all the crap I'm going to take from the guys about the pants . . . it was worth it."

* * *

***** O *** O *** END *** O *** O *****

* * *

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to Mark VII Productions, Inc., Universal Studios and whoever else owns the 1970's TV show Emergency!; I am just playing in their sandbox.


End file.
